Echo of a Soul
by Timeless4Life
Summary: It had been a mistake to start this arrangement. Arthur should never have agreed to a quick fix that not only abused his body but now also his sanity. As time goes on and he gets closer to breaking point, Arthur starts to question if he will ever be able to look himself in the mirror again. Meanwhile, his companion wonders is Arthur will ever forgive him... and love him back...
1. Chapter 1

The air chilled his breath, little white clouds drifting from his lips as his chest heaved and ached. _Damn it!_ _Why didn't I keep an eye on the time?!_ Arthur checked his watch as he darted across the road, not bothering to check for traffic, not caring if he got hit. It'd be a mercy, really. To end all this madness. This stupid, stupid façade.

 _I hate myself._

He stumbled to a stop, tip of his shoe tripping on the edge of the pavement. Cursing, he righted himself, straightening his white shirt and pulling down on his cuffs. _It's not too late to call and cancel... say your sick..._ He sighed. When had that ever worked anyway? Scraping a rogue blonde lock out of his eyes, Arthur stared upwards, squinting against the blinding glow of the street lamp beside him. First floor. Second floor. Third. Fourth... Although the curtains were tightly drawn, the frames of the window panes seemed silhouetted by the pale glow of the lights inside. _Go on. Do your thing. It's simple. Just do it._

Anger bubbled beneath the surface as the familiar and achingly annoying questions started swirling around his mind, attacking his sanity, shredding his common sense. _I... can't- No._ He crouched, ducking to the cold ground. A frost coated the concrete, the white specks sparkling in the spotlight of the street lamps like tiny stars. _I'm- I'm not doing this again! I-_ His hands shook as they gripped the sides of his face, but he didn't feel the cold. Not any more. _I am not weak. I am NOT weak._ One. Two. His breathing started to slow as he reigned in his thoughts and shook off the disgusting clamminess that enveloped his skin every time he walked towards the building. _There. Normal._ Or as normal as Arthur could get these days. Bit by bit he straightened, locking away the fear. The tears that always threatened withdrew, dried by his hardened composure. _I have to do this. I- I need the money._

Taking another long, slow breath to steady himself, he reached forwards and pressed the buzzer.

xXx

Almost as soon as it was opened, Arthur was pulled inside and pressed up against the hard, wooden door, his fragile frame used to slam the door shut. A hand was immediately at his throat, a gentle pressure applied just enough to be reminded who was in charge.

"You're late," he breathed, lips brushing Arthur's earlobe.

The old Arthur would have winced. Would have shoved him away. Cursed and punched him up. But this was the new Arthur. The new Arthur who stayed quiet no matter what, did as he was told - whatever he was told. The new Arthur was a stranger.

Apparently satisfied with his silence, the hand was removed from Arthur's throat. It slid down his chest until it's partner joined it and both hands found and rested on his hips. Things were going to be moving along as usual it seemed. Business. It was purely business.

"I was starting to think you'd abandoned me."

His hands were warm, the tips lightly tracing round the waistline of his trousers, dipping occasionally, tantalisingly, past the hem to brush against the smooth skin of Arthur's stomach.

"Perhaps," he said lightly, a small smirk crossing his features as he unbuttoned Arthur's shirt. "I could think of a few ways you could make up for it." He knelt, lips finding Arthur's newly revealed snow white skin, trailing a slow line of kisses down his stomach. Down... down... "Just a few ways to make it all better, hmm?" Those warm fingertips slipped his belt from its buckle and worked their way down. "Questions usually require an answer, Iggy. Unless... you need further convincing?"

His mouth had gone dry. Arthur just stood there, like a statue, bolt upright against the door, silent, waiting, _willing_. Long ago he'd given up talking to this man who treated him more like a pet than a human being. Talking wasn't required in this arrangement. He just needed to be there. _What good would speaking do anyway? What would I even say...? I don't like this. I want to go home. Sometimes I go to sleep and wonder if, by some small mercy, I'll just stay sleeping. Wonder if I could have done things differently?_ Arthur halted his thoughts. He had no rights here. He had made this situation for himself, agreed to this filthy solution. It was his fault. Everything, as usual, came down to him making a stupid decision and now he was paying for it. No. No, he didn't have a right to say anything at all.

Those warm fingers brought him back to reality, Arthur cursing silently as he was caught slightly of-guard. That uneasy clamminess started to itch across his skin again. _Do it. Just... let him do it._

"It's a good thing you arrived so late, yes?" Arthur knew he shouldn't have looked down, but he did. Bright topaz blue eyes stared into him, the light dancing in them. It was not the first time Arthur had met with those eyes and thought of how a cat regards a struggling mouse. A dirty, germ-ridden mouse. "Because I've had plenty of time to think about what we could do."

xXx

* * *

 _Author's Note: It's been a while! Hope you like this. Sorry,_ _I've not written in a while so I'm rusty. You can thank my best friend for the inspiration - she recently wrote a fantastic South Park fanfic, and I was like: I need to write more. I've wanted to write something about England for a while. Hopefully this is enjoyable!_ _All will be explained as the story progresses..._ _As for who Iggy is calling to see, that will be revealed in the next chapter. In the mean time: what do you think?_


	2. Chapter 2

They hadn't slept together in ages. Not properly. It wasn't the first time that Arthur found himself wondering if Francis had lost interest in the idea of fucking him over, now he had made it clear he was no longer willing to fight him. Last night had turned out no different - he'd come in, did a few 'favours' and then wound up in bed, the Frenchman's arms wrapped tightly around him until he'd fallen asleep. He felt more like a sex-toy-come-water bottle than anything else lately. An expensive one at that.

Six am. Iggy listened to his companions breathing, in, out, monotonous like a clock. Knowing he was asleep and couldn't ask him to do anything relaxed him. As usual, he hadn't slept a wink. How could he when lay next to that animal? His dark circles had dark circles.

As quietly as possible, Arthur slipped out of bed and started picking up his clothes that had been strewn over the floor, each article of clothing dropped like breadcrumbs trailing out of the bedroom all the way out into the hallway. He grimaced as he picked up his shirt - it was covered in hand-scrunched creases. Sighing, he pulled it on. No one would see it once he put on his coat. No one could whisper behind his back and 'wonder loudly' where he'd been, what he'd been doing. He could be just visiting a friend and just so happened to stay the night... a couple of times a week. _Don't be an idiot, numbskull._ It was obvious. It felt as if his very being glowed in big neon lights that he belonged to Francis. Did him favours. A dog on a leash. _I'm just as disgusting as he is._

Like a zombie, Arthur switched on the coffee maker and sat at the breakfast bar, pouring himself a bowl of cereal or whatever flouncy muesli-type-material that Francis liked to make. It didn't matter. He probably wouldn't eat it anyway.

The early morning light poured in through the lace curtains of the joint living and dining area, casting a faint golden tinge across the pastel yellow walls. He sipped his too-hot coffee, enjoying the stinging sensation on the tip on his tongue, as he gazed at the shadows cast by the furniture, grey on gold. God, it had taken him forever to paint these walls – how long ago was it? It felt like a lifetime had passed. Back when he was a regular gofer and not, well, whatever he was now.

 _"How the bloody hell am I meant to paint all of this in two bloody hours?!"_

 _"I believe that is_ your _problem to solve,_ mon ami _." Francis shrugged nonchalantly as he continued primping in one of the many mirrors that lived on the walls of his home. "Right. What do you think?" He turned round and beamed at the smaller man. Arthur continued to frown at him. If he wanted some sort of reaction – applause, knowing him – to him getting all scrubbed up for one of his 'work' meetings, he was barking up the wrong tree. He still looked like an idiot._

 _Arthur rolled his eyes and started unbuttoning the stiff cuffs of his shirt, rolling the sleeves up in preparation of the mess that would undoubtedly soon ensue. If he had known that he was to be painting today he wouldn't have dressed so smartly. Or worn his new white shirt._

 _"Now, now. I've told you before, yes? That frown can be so unbecoming," Francis smiled, clapping his hands either side of Arthur's face and squeezing lightly. Arthur's frown deepened. Francis was too touchy-feely. It sickened him and the bastard knew it. Smile never once leaving his face, Francis threw him a wink that Arthur could only describe as creepy and turned to check himself in the mirror one last time. "Remember, I don't want to see any of that hideous blue by the time I get back."_

 _"I'll… I'll see what I can do." He didn't really have a choice._

 _"That a boy."_

 _Giving Arthur a small smack on his arse for good measure, Francis headed towards the front door and left the poor man alone at last. Arthur stifled his grumbling and continued rolling up his sleeves. It was going to be a long afternoon, especially if he didn't get it finished._ Why the hell did I agree to this?

How or why the Frenchman so desperately strived to keep 'in vogue', utterly baffled him. Although, almost anything Francis did seemed to utterly baffle him. The whole concept of changing the walls just to be fashionable was not only a needless expense but pointless. Not once had any of his guests – and there had been a fair few – commented on the colour of them. Arthur was certain that if he were in Francis' shoes he'd forever be exhausted. But Francis? Annoyingly, he carried himself in a continuous kind of calm no matter what was happening. Very rarely did he become unfixed.

He stared at the dark colour of his coffee, the steam twisting like fingers grasping out for a lifeline. _That's when everything changed. That bastard swaggered in and turned my world upside down…_ Once it had been established that Arthur wasn't kidding when he offered to run errands and complete odd jobs for payment, Francis was one of the first to jump on the 'let's troll England' bandwagon, shortly followed by Alfred and Wang Yao who were, thankfully, nowhere near as humiliating. Letting go of his pretty maid and hiring Iggy as replacement marked the beginning of their turbulent master-servant relationship. The range of odd jobs varied from weird to outright traumatising, including delivering something 'very personal' to Austria… luckily, Roderich was quick to catch on and took pity on him, halting him before he could really embarrass himself and his crimson blush could reach his toes. Arthur laughed to himself. _And I thought_ that _moment was going to be the height of France's cruelty._ Actually looking back the whole Austrian fiasco was hilarious. Like a practical joke. _And then things went rapidly downhill._ He sighed. _Why couldn't I see it? The stupidity of agreeing to work for that man?!_ The only compliment he could pay was that at least Francis was consistently traumatising. And he paid him well. _Christ. Now I feel worse._

It had been clear from the beginning that this whole situation had been a mistake to embark on. His superiors hard-pressured him for money, offered no sympathy and, as it turned out, they were not the only ones Arthur was not brave enough to say 'no' to. But it had seemed an easy route, a quick way out. And the hardest part? The only person he could honestly and completely blame, infuriatingly, was himself.

 _Thinking on my superiors..._ In three hours time he was scheduled to attend another budget meeting. Or, to be more accurate, the heated blame/guilt games with Iggy at the center of it. As usual it would not go well and Arthur would likely leave feeling marginally worse than when he arrived. With a yawn, he downed the rest of his coffee and dragged himself away from the breakfast bar. _Time to leave and get ready for work. My other work... someone save me..._

xXx

Francis watched the bedroom door close as the blonde slipped out of his room. He propped himself up on his elbows, listening to Arthur's footsteps retreating down the hallway, before he let himself fall back onto his pillows with a sigh. _What am I even doing anymore?_

Long ago Francis realised that he'd fallen from the 'general dick' category to being an outright twisted monster. He'd seen the look of hurt that crossed Arthur's face every time he looked at him. Hell, he even saw the frustrated-depressive tussle he had with himself every time he approached Francis' place that Arthur had no idea he knew about. It cut him deeply.

The most horrible part in all this was that he couldn't stop himself. At first he'd thought he was merely keeping up appearances, dominating the Englishman's world simply because he could. But it was more than that. He knew the truth behind his actions. Come to terms with it. His close friends knew about it, even if they didn't know the half of what went on once Arthur crossed into the threshold of his inner-city flat. Actually, they knew his intentions before he himself knew. And the first major sign? Moving in on English territory – at the time he saw this as nothing more than getting a place he could live in comfortably when he attended meetings abroad. Also it annoyed Arthur immensely which was always a source of pleasure… So what was he doing? He could kid himself that this was his penance, this torture of watching the man he cared more for than anyone else, the man he loved to hate, get hurt by him over and over, sometimes just by being around him, but he knew it wasn't true. On some twisted level, he wondered if he enjoyed it. _I've hated myself over my impulsiveness before, but this… this is too much._

Francis looked at the ceiling, following the swirls in the design. "I don't want you to hate me…" he whispered aloud, wishing more than anything that he could take it all back, every single thing. "I want you to stay." _Why is it so much harder to say these kind of things to people's faces?_

But 'staying' was never going to happen. Not unless Arthur continued in his mock-zombie manner, drifting between his job at his government's headquarters and Francis' flat. Nobody wanted that. It wasn't right. Hell, none of this was 'right'. _God. If he found out…_ He rubbed his face, biting down on his bottom lip nervously. _Merde. What would I do then?_

xXx

* * *

 _Author's Note: And so it begins... Unfortunately things are going to go further downhill for Iggy and Francis. Also, more flashbacks are to come. Hope this chapter made up for my weak first chapter and that you're enjoying the ride still :)_


End file.
